The One He Dismissed Became The One He Died For novel Chapter 67

Miles lowered his gaze to the hand clutching his sleeve.

Her whole pitiful-victim act was genuinely getting better by the day.

His lips pressed together as he gave a curt nod and a soft hum of agreement.

Inner jubilation consumed her, a sly, fox-like gleam shining in her eyes.

For the first time, she truly understood the concept of a blessing in disguise.

Building management dispatched a crew to clear the water, temporarily cutting the power to Unit 502.

Claire squelched along in her soaked slippers, following Miles into his apartment like two drowned rats.

They stepped into Unit 501.

Miles tossed her a fresh towel.

"Take a shower. There are new toiletries in the closet."

Claire nodded enthusiastically; she was practically a seasoned veteran navigating his guest room by now.

After her shower, she changed into clean clothes.

Miles had also changed into comfortable casual wear, standing in the living room with his keys in hand.

"Since you'll be staying for a while, we're out of a few things. Let's go buy some essentials."

Claire agreed without a second thought.

Just like in the movies, shopping for household essentials was the ultimate first step of living together!

At the luxury plaza near Grandview Heights.

Claire practically skipped through the aisles while Miles followed faithfully behind, pushing the shopping cart.

He simply watched as she tossed a ridiculous assortment of bright, eccentric little items into the basket.

"Dr. Zimmerman, your cups are way too boring," she announced, holding up a pair of fluffy, brown bear-themed mugs. "Can we use these? One for you, one for me."

"And the bedding in the guest room is way too depressing. It's totally ruining my sleep quality."

Ignoring any chance for a rebuttal, she grabbed a set of sheets covered in bright pink strawberries and shoved them into the cart.

Miles's gaze drifted over the rapidly filling cart.

Loud colors, absurdly soft textures, childish patterns...

It was an absolute clash with his sleek, minimalist home that consisted purely of black, white, and gray.

Bizarrely enough, as he pictured these ridiculous items invading his sterile space, he didn't feel the slightest urge to object.

Instead, a foreign, unfamiliar warmth seeped into the most desolate corners of his heart.

Was this what 'home' actually felt like?

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